


Unexpected Assignment

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2019-09-14 14:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16915032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Giles resigns his position after Buffy's S5 death, and the Watchers send Lydia Chalmers to be their representative on the Hellmouth.





	1. The Watcher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rebcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebcake/gifts).



> This is for **rebcake** who asked: _The premise is that Giles resigns his position after Buffy's S5 death, and the Watchers send Lydia Chalmers to be their representative on the Hellmouth. Among other things, she hopes to get more material for her expanded dissertation on William the Bloody. Wackiness ensues!_
> 
> Everyone remember Lydia, the watcher who did her thesis on William the Bloody? Well, this is all from her POV! I feel a little dirty - I always say "hidden first" third person is cheating, but I didn't want to completely commit to first person, you know?
> 
> And it's totally GEN fic. No one gets any. Well, there is hints of Spike/Buffy and maybe some Spike/Lydia UST. Judge for yourself.

Lydia had not thought Rupert Giles to be the sort to abandon his post, no matter what “irreconcilable differences” he might have with his charge. In fact, it was that official reason that gave her the most pause, for in her very brief interaction with them, Giles had seemed inordinately attached. The whole thing smelled fishy.

Still, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she accepted her new assignment with, she hoped, restrained glee. It was every watcher’s dream to be assigned to the slayer, naturally, but even more so, a slayer living in close proximity to her thesis subject! It was too good to be true and she wasn’t above pinching her wrist to verify it even as Steven Tildesly gave her a snotty look. (Like he would ever have been picked.)

She didn’t expect her colleagues to overcome their barely-concealed jealousy to throw her a send-off, but honestly, she had expected more from her mother than a rushed and insistent shopping trip to buy sun screen and broad-brimmed hats. The sun of California, having failed to destroy her on her last sojourn, was apparently plotting a devastating revenge.

She supposed being pressed upon to buy long-sleeved linen shirts was actually her mother’s way of saying she was proud. It was better than her sister’s, “Oh, is that good?” response when she called to say “I’ve been chosen to watch the slayer!”

“Oh, is that good?” Had Bethany not listened to a word she’d said for the past fifteen years?

But that was it. Subletting her flat to a co-worker, cleaning out her office, and finding a home for her pet turtle were the only difficulties. She liked to imagine Mr. Knobby was sad to see her go, but he only reacted with slight interest to the moving of his tank to another flat.

So little to disengage herself from the city she’d lived in for all her adult life! How lonely a life it had been! But, then, she was working in the service of all mankind. Concessions had to be made.

Lydia only started worrying when she was on the plane, her brand-new leather-bound dairy in her lap. What if she wasn’t ready for this? She hadn’t exactly bonded with the slayer on her last visit, and if she was honest with herself, Lydia had never really had close female friends. Good lord, what if she was THAT watcher? The well-meaning but socially embarrassing bookworm?

Absently, she felt the back of her bun.

Just be yourself, Lydia, she admonished herself. The last thing she needed to be was the over-compensating spinster attempting to act younger than her age. The fact was, no matter what she did, chances were good the slayer would be hostile to her and consider her ridiculous, regardless.

She arrived in LAX, navigated the monstrous airport, found out how much a taxi would cost, rented a car instead and spent three nerve-wracking hours remembering which side of the road to drive on and discovering the depth and complexity of American road rage. You’d think everyone in California was on an incredibly vital mission. And the traffic didn’t let up until LA was just a smoggy smear in the sky behind her.

She checked into the same cheap hotel they’d used last time, being too exhausted to find another, and as she collapsed on the creaky mattress, she briefly wondered why someone hadn’t arranged a car to pick her up.

She’d make that the primary topic of her first report.

In the morning, freshly showered and dressed, she looked out on the parking lot glinting in the hot sun and thought: I am really here.

She gave a bit of a giddy yip and gathered up her diary and her purse. She checked herself in the mirror and found her suit smart but not too stern, her hair just so. She wondered absently if she would meet HIM today and if he would be as flirtatious as last time. She admonished herself for even thinking of it, but she also stopped and put on a bit of lipstick.

Well armed for her first day as Official Watcher to The Slayer, she dashed out the door.

Someone had replaced the air outside her hotel room with that from inside an oven. Or she’d been turned into a vampire over-night. She sagged where she stood on the narrow walkway outside her room, listening a moment to the crackle of melting pavement, turned around and went back in.

Changed into a sleeveless blouse and her lightest linen jacket, with the broad-brimmed hat and sunglasses her mother had insisted upon, she re-emerged.

Summer made quite a difference.

The slayer had a charming house – quite large – on a street full of charming houses and blessed shade trees. Lydia felt a little relieved and yet an interloper, walking across the broad front porch.

The blonde girl who answered the door had a thousand-watt smile.

“Hello,” Lydia began.

“I’m Buffy Summers!” The slayer said. “This is my house. I don’t know you.”

Lydia was a bit taken aback. The slayer had been, if anything, sarcastic and sullen during their examination visit – perhaps justifiably so. The thousand-watt smile was still in place.

“L-Lydia Chalmers. We did meet, briefly. I understand if you don’t remember. I’m your new watcher.”

“Giles is my watcher. He’s b-“

A redhead rushed into the doorway, knocking Buffy back. “Watcher? We get a new watcher? Nobody warned us! With watching and… watcher?”

“You must be Willow Rosenberg.” Lydia smiled and extended a hand. She had done her research! “Babble” was mentioned quite a bit in Giles’ diaries.

Willow smiled. “Yup, that’s me.” She kept trying to hold Buffy behind her. “Uh, can you give us a few minutes?”

The door then slammed in her face. Well! That was a bit more American rudeness than she’d expected.

When it re-opened, the slayer happily informed her, “I’m not feeling well, but Willow is going to show you around. She’s my best friend.”

“Buffy has a fever,” Willow added, patting her friend’s head. “You guys should really call first with this stuff.”

Lydia frowned. It certainly explained the slightly dazed expression. “I hadn’t thought to call ahead. It really would have been better.”

“No, it’s cool.” Willow slipped neatly between Buffy and the door, closing it behind her. “I can show you the Magic Box, with the training room and all of Giles’ stuff.”

Lydia stalwartly refused to let the girl herd her off the porch. “I remember the magic shop from my last visit. I was hoping rather to hear about this falling out that resulted in Mr. Giles’ departure? And I need to know the slayer’s schedule and any significant paranormal activity in the area.”

“Everything’s fine! Everything’s normal!” Willow said brightly, which was a clear indication that it was not. “Just while Buffy’s, you know, not well, I’m sort of taking point on… things.”

“How long has she been ill? If this is a serious illness, we should take her to the hospital at once. We can’t lose the one girl in all the world to the flu.”

“No! No no! It’s not serious. Just…” Willow snapped her fingers. “She didn’t take Giles leaving so well.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. There was definitely something this girl was hiding. “I suppose we can talk about it on the way to the magic shop.”

The walk was not long, nor the conversation fruitful. In answer to repeated questions about why Mr. Giles had left, all Willow could say was, “They just stopped getting along so well. You know, Buffy didn’t really need a watcher anymore.”

“I wouldn’t think it’s a question of _needing_ a watcher, like a lawn service or cook.”

The redhead plunged onward confidently. “We’re a well-oiled slaying machine. Research, magic, strategy. We have it all.”

This one was going to be trouble. “I’m sure you’re all very competent. Mr. Giles spoke highly of you in his reports. But there’s something to be said for experience and a knowledge of slaying history.”

“Oh yeah, totally with the knowledge and stuff, Giles was the guy. But we’ve been studying under him for a while and if we want a really old guy’s opinion, we have Spike. Look, here we are!”

Lydia felt a little skip of excitement at the casual mention of the vampire’s name. “How often does William the Bloody make an appearance? We were given the impression his involvement was peripheral, but that he does provide information and, well, muscle, for money?”

“Hm? Oh, Giles used to give Spike money, sometimes. But we don’t pay him anymore.”

Willow led the way into the quaint little shop, a cheerful bell over the door announcing their entrance. A petite young woman behind the counter smiled with proprietary welcome. Her smile faded a bit when she saw Willow stop in the middle of the room and gesture. “So, this is the Magic Box. We hold a lot of our strategy sessions at that table, right next to the books. It’s handy.”

“But if you don’t pay him, why would he assist you?” Lydia was a little excited, thinking about some incidents in her research, and her opinions of those incidents that had been dismissed by other watchers as the fanciful hope of a silly girl to read noble motives into a killer who happened to be handsome.

“Are you here to buy things?” the woman behind the counter asked. “I really prefer real customers.”

“Anya, this is Lydia. She’s replacing Giles.”

Lydia quickly stammered, “I’m sure no one can be a replacement-“

“His share of the store is not available,” Anya interrupted. “And I have no interest in new business partners or sharing equity.”

Lydia looked to Willow, who just shrugged. “I assure you, I am only here in my capacity as a watcher. Now, Miss Rosenberg, you were saying, about William the Bloody?”

“Also there are no demons nor former demons on the premises.” Anya’s smile looked nearly manic.

Lydia cleared her throat and looked away. “You said there was, um, a training room? Perhaps we could go there to finish our discussion?”

But the shopkeeper cut them off as Willow led the way to a back door. “I’ve been charging a fee to non-lesbian clientele to go in there when Spike’s working out.”

“Your training room is open to the public?” Lydia asked incredulously.

Willow simply said, “She’s a lesbian,” and pulled her along by her elbow.

Lydia shook the arm off as they entered the back room. “But I’m not-”

“Don’t argue. I probably saved you twenty bucks.”

Willow said something else after that, but Lydia didn’t hear. Instead her attention was stolen by the figure beating out his frustrations on the punching bag.

He was glistening with sweat and his musculature was clearly defined through his tight t-shirt and his movements were graceful and passionate. He landed one more hard punch, jerking the holding chain to its fullest extent, and turned to face them, blue eyes just smouldering. Oh, those eyes.

Lydia stepped forward, hand extended. “Lydia Chalmers. We met before. I don’t suppose you remember me.”

She could have been invisible. He stalked up to Willow. “Tara’s not due off her bloody work-study shift for another hour. Who’s watching Dawn?”

Willow spoke to him very slowly, like she thought he was an idiot. “Spike, this is the new watcher the council sent us. To watch Buffy.”

Spike was breathing heavily and obviously not listening. He looked left and right. “You left her with the b-“

“Slayer! Yes, Spike. I left Dawn with her sister. Even though Buffy is feeling a little under the weather right now, I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

Spike and Willow stared each other down. Finally, Spike broke eye-contact, crossing to snatch a leather coat off of a pommel horse. “Fine. I’ll go check up on her.”

Willow got a bit of an evil gleam in her eye. “Great. Buffy’ll be happy. She’s been asking about you.”

“Someone was supposed to fix that.”

“Yeah, well some creepy stalker guy filled her head with ideas. It’s not so easy to undo.”

One more antagonistic stare-down and Spike left, not even glancing back at Lydia, who still had her hand out.

She dropped it, feeling more rejected than she’d like to admit. “Well, that went well.”

“Vampires are cranky people,” Willow said, and hopped up on the vacated pommel horse. “So, what else do you want to see?”

***

It wasn’t until the next day that Lydia was able to get to see the slayer herself, and that only after Tara McClay, a stuttering and bashful young woman, dragged her through an exhaustive accounting of all the magic spells cast in the past year. Then the young man, Alexander something, but he insisted on the unusual diminutive ‘Xander’ - tried to drag her into an architectural tour of the town’s several graveyards.

Lydia dodged him in a somewhat unladylike maneuver – but politeness hadn’t been serving her cause very well. “I appreciate all you do for the slayer, but I am not here for you. I am here for the slayer. Herself. And I will speak with her before any more tours or reports!”

This scene occurred on a public sidewalk, and she had, in fact, stomped her foot like an angry child. But it worked. Tara ducked her head and said something in Xander’s ear, and he sighed and said, “Okay. Time to meet the Buffster.”

Obviously, there was something about Buffy they wanted to keep from Lydia. So she was very quiet and observant as they returned to Buffy’s home and Tara went to get her; she was apparently asleep (from illness?)

Xander hovered anxiously before excusing himself to get a drink from the refrigerator.

Buffy came down the stairs in a light pleated skirt and the same thousand-watt smile. “It’s Lydia. She’s a watcher, just like Giles, but with boobs.”

Lydia re-adjusted the lay of her blazer and thought unwillingly about Quentin Traver’s lecture on professional attire that had followed her one wearing of a camisole instead of a blouse on a particularly stuffy August afternoon. Americans were painfully blunt, she reminded herself; it wasn’t personal. “Are you feeling better?”

At the base of the stairs, Buffy stood admirably at attention, her hands crossed in front of her. “I had a virus. It’s gone now.”

“I’m very pleased to hear that. Your illness didn’t detract from your calling?”

“My friends help me slay and I don’t need a watcher.”

Lydia frowned. She could see Xander peeking in from the kitchen and Willow at the top of the stairs. “Well, perhaps we can just be good friends.”

“I’d like that,” Buffy said, much to Lydia’s relief.

“I thought we could go to the training room, and evaluate your current fitness.”

“Okay!”

Lydia glanced at the anxiously-watching friends of the slayer before leading the way out the door.

***

Buffy’s physical performance was adequate. She seemed just as super-strong as ever, and flexible and quick, but there was a mechanical tone to her movements that Lydia suspected was due to over-training.

“That’s wonderful,” she said as Buffy executed a perfect backflip. “Enough physical tests for now. Let’s just chat, you and I.”

“Okay.” Buffy dutifully flounced over and sat down next to Lydia. Her back was ramrod straight, her hands in her lap – the perfect image of manners. Lydia’s mother would have had a heart attack from shock that a girl these days could sit so still.

Of course, all she did was sit there, waiting in polite expectation.

Lydia cleared her throat. “About Mr. Giles’ departure?”

More attentive silence. The girl really wasn’t a conversationalist. Or perhaps she was just shy. They needed to bond a bit. “I was startled to hear you were no longer getting on. He seemed so fond of you.”

Buffy looked a little sad and confused. “Giles doesn’t like me anymore?”

“I’m sure that isn’t it! But what aren’t the others telling me?”

Buffy tilted her head. “I don’t understand the question.”

“About Giles leaving – is there something your friends are afraid to tell me?”

“I like my friends. They help me slay. Sometimes they are stupid, though.”

That seemed rather random, but perhaps the girl was trying to communicate and didn’t have the words to explain herself. “Can you give me an example of a time when they are stupid?”

“When they talk about Spike. Xander can be a right git about him.” Buffy pronounced ‘right git’ with frightening California perk. “Spike is wonderful once you get to know him.”

Lydia blinked, rapidly, and something seemed to come into focus on that unfocused young face in front of her. “You are fond of Spike?”

Buffy’s eyes widened and her smile, if possible, deepened. “Yes. He’s smart and funny and I’m also a little afraid of him and attracted to the danger.”

“And Mr. Giles didn’t approve of your warm feelings, did he?”

“No one approves. Even Spike doesn’t approve. He doesn’t look at me like he used to.”

Lydia put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You poor dear. He’s broken your heart and rather than support you, your friends would rather voice their disapproval of the relationship in the first place. I bet they said you were a silly thing, blinded by his cheekbones.”

A little wistfully, Buffy said, “You should really see him naked.”

***

Lydia was not surprised to find the entire cadre waiting outside the training room. Xander almost stumbled in his attempt to hide the fact he’d been listening at the door. Anya deftly relieved him of the drinking-glass he nearly dropped.

“So, everything okay?” Willow asked. She pulled forward a girl with long brown hair and added, “This is Dawn, Buffy’s little sister.”

Lydia gave what she hoped was a cordial enough greeting, but her eyes were helplessly drawn to the dirty rotten heart-breaking vampire who was slouching against a bookcase.

When Buffy happily greeted her little sister, the younger girl flinched away from her hug and said, “I want to go home.” So even Buffy’s only sibling was against her!

Willow said, “Spike has something to say.” And gestured impatiently at him until he sighed and straightened.

Looking up at the ceiling, he said, “Yeah, so, might as well take you on a patrol while the slayer takes her little sis home and gets her fed and into bed and all that.”

It was obviously another ploy to keep her busy and separated from Buffy, but Lydia couldn’t be more pleased to agree. “Yes, let’s. I’ve been eager to see first hand how you help the slayer.”

She might have put a sharp emphasis on ‘help’ because the vampire gave her a slightly abashed look before his insouciant mask fell back into place. “Right,” he said, “No time like the present,” and turned on his heel to go.

Willow gave him some gestured and whispered commands, no doubt something about keeping Lydia out until a certain time. Lydia coolly pretended not to notice.

The door chimed behind them and they stepped out into the thankfully cooler California night. The vampire led the way across the street and down the block, his hands in his coat pockets.

Lydia cleared her throat. “So, how long was your illicit affair with the slayer?”

The vampire’s preternatural grace did not stop him from stumbling, as he had been in the process of stepping over a curb. His coat swung out as he spun to face her. “What the bleeding hell, woman?”

“Don’t play coy with me. I’m well aware of your relationship, and that you broke it off.” Overcome with emotion, Lydia slapped the vampire. He stared at her in blank astonishment.

Lydia balled her fist, stinging from the blow. “You broke her heart. Her watcher, her mentor left her because of you and you didn’t even have the decency to stand by her. Explain yourself!”

Spike touched his cheek and then, much to Lydia’s annoyance, began to smile. “Watchers. Bloody brilliant. You all need your bifocals checked.” He chuckled and resumed leading the way to the cemetery, with a bit more swagger in his step. “Yeah, Slayer and I had a fling. What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

Lydia had to jog to catch up. “You toyed with her emotions! Seduced her!”

“Oi! I did not! I loved her.” Spike stopped, jaw tight. “Love her,” he amended.

Lydia admonished her heart to not, under any circumstances, melt. “So why did you leave her?”

Spike’s jaw ticked as he looked away from her, the street lights painting his face in noir-movie shadows. “You know how it is. Slayers and vampires. She deserved better.”

“Oh you insufferable _man._ You left her for her own good, is that it? I don’t suppose she gets to choose what is good enough for her?”

“I wouldn’t do that!” He turned, obviously realizing the contradiction in his words and ducked his head. “Come on, got nasties to find.”

“You don’t get away with this that easily.” Lydia hurried after him. Somehow he made a slouching, slow walk that was fast enough she had to nearly run to keep up.

They had reached a wrought-iron gate with “All Soul’s Cemetery” arching over it.

“If you cared at all for Buffy, why torture her with your indifference? Surely even an amoral being can see that your continual presence is breaking her heart.”

She thought she caught a slight, ironic smile as he almost, but not quite, glanced back at her. “Promised her I’d protect her sister. I keep my promises.”

Lydia’s slight heel caught in the soft moss-covered path and she paused to pick it out, watching Spike stomp off across the graveyard, somehow so insufferable and sweet all at once. (And he’d just provided her with first-hand proof of a vampire with ethical understanding. Take that, Johnson, and the rest of those stuffed shirts who refused any evidence that contradicted a view of purely evil vampire behavior.)

Spike had stopped several yards off, looking back at her like a put-upon boyfriend waiting for his girl to get out of the powder room. This diminished his likeability somewhat. Lydia put her shoe back on but resisted the urge to continue chasing after him like a besotted school-girl.

With head held high, she walked purposefully toward him.

He lit a cigarette. “What the hell do you want me to say, love? Going to actually order me to date the slayer?”

“It’s none of my business, of course, if you want to be a complete prat, but my duty is to the slayer, and it’s clear that you are something of a distraction to her calling. Is this what all her friends were so desperate for me not to find out? Are they afraid that I’ll report this… this inappropriate relationship to the council? Are they protecting you or her?”

Spike exhaled smoke through lips tightened by mirth. “Believe whatever you want to believe.”

“I will discover the truth. It will go better for you to cooperate.”

He raised both eyebrows. “What are you going to do? Wave a cross at me?”

Lydia blushed. He did remember her! She forced herself to meet his gaze. “The council will likely decide to terminate you if I report this.”

“Let them try,” he looked like he actually relished the thought.

“I doubt you’ll be all that terrifying to them with your inability to harm humans.” His expression blanked. “Yes, I know all about that now. I’ve read Giles’ diaries – the ones he didn’t send back to council.”

Spike rolled a shoulder and took another drag, looking up at the moon. “Doesn’t matter. They won’t catch me.”

“Perhaps, but you won’t be able to keep your promise if you’re busy evading capture.”

Of a sudden his hands were on her arms and lifting her like she was nothing and slamming her against a tree. Lydia’s heart leapt into her throat and she stared into the very frightening, very real vampire face in front of her.

Helplessly, she wondered where his cigarette had gone and if it wouldn’t cause a brush fire.

“Listen, bint, I may be neutered, but I will end you if anything happens to the bit because I wasn’t there to protect her. You know nothing about what’s gone on here. Nothing.”

He shook her, and then winced. His yellow gaze was somewhat clouded and squinting as he glared at her. That was no doubt the behavior modification chip Giles had written about, but at the moment Lydia was not entirely inclined to trust in its efficacy.

She licked dry lips but whatever she was going to come up with failed to emerge and was instead replaced, as she noticed movement somewhere just beyond Spike’s ear, with the word, “Berrigon.”

He cocked his head in confusion.

Lydia coughed. “Berrigon demon, behind-“ and that was all she got out before said creature attacked.

Spike was thrown into her and they both cried out in pain. Then Lydia fell as he let go of her. She caught a glimpse of Spike kicking the grey, horned demon while she frantically felt through the grass and leaves for her purse, which she had foolishly dropped when Spike grabbed hold of her.

Spike fell almost on top of her hand as she reached around a tree-root, and the demon was suddenly very much looking at her, his fat fangs glistening in the moonlight.

Spike somehow flipped himself right over and got between them, landing a few punches to the thick-hided creature’s face. It certainly made the demon blink and look annoyed.

The Berrigon charged and Lydia dashed out of the way. Her nice skirt was rucking up and possibly torn, but at last she felt the supple leather strap of her hand-bag in the grass.  
She crawled behind the tree, feeling through her belongings with one hand, tossing things out on the ground as she went.

The demon apparently had decided to also go around the tree and Lydia looked up to find it over her, grinning. A fleck of saliva hit her cheek.

Not quite sure how she managed to do it through a blank fugue of fear, she drove the silver letter-opener up through its groin.

She was still kneeling when it fell.

Spike staggered into view, bits of foliage sticking out of his hair, and stared in disbelief at the dead Berrigon.

“Berrigons are vulnerable to silver, like most cerotacious demons,” Lydia said, feeling very absurd on her knees in a cemetery with a letter-opener clutched in both hands.

Spike stepped over the Berrigon’s corpse and held out a hand to her. It took Lydia a moment to realize he was offering assistance. Her hand was shaking as she placed it in his.

He pulled her to her feet with breathless speed. “Easy, love. ‘S all over now.” He steadied her as she tottered a moment.

Lydia smoothed her skirt down and started gathering all the things back into her purse. The bottle of holy water had cracked, but everything else seemed intact.

Spike sat against a tombstone and lit another cigarette. In the still quiet of the space between picking up her hairbrush and picking up her wooden crucifix, he casually said, “She’s a bot.”

Lydia straightened. “I beg your pardon?”

Spike shrugged extravagantly, making the motion part of a draw of the cigarette, hand sweeping out again with his exhale. “Buffy. The Buffy you met. She’s a robot. Figure you’re smart enough you’ll eventually get it. The real Buffy…” he faltered. He looked down at his hands. “She’s gone. Buffy died and we’re trying to make it seem like she’s still here just so the baddies don’t decide to have a field day.”

Lydia gathered up the crucifix and the ring-bound index cards with handy spells and incantations and walked over to sit next to Spike on the tombstone. She stared at him. He shrugged again. She shifted her purse into her lap and looked out at the peaceful graveyard. (Well, peaceful if one ignored the strewn debris from their fight. And the demon corpse.)

“I just thought she was _particularly_ American.”

Spike coughed a half-laugh. “She was,” he said, sadly.

“Oh,” Lydia said. It was inadequate, but then, anything would be. “This is… not what I expected at all.”

“You’re no Rupert, but you’ll do all right.”

“So Mr. Giles left because…?”

Spike exhaled upward, a long, philosophical plume of smoke. “Couldn’t bear looking at the bot. Can’t hardly, myself.”

“So you and she… I mean, did you…?”

“No. She couldn’t stand me. The bot… it’s a long, embarrassing story. I’d rather not go into it.”

“I see.” Lydia looked down at her bedraggled skirt and open purse. Something shining in the grass might have been her good fountain pen. She’d get to it later. “Thank you, for telling me the truth.”

He shrugged. “Like I said. Saw you with that tiny knife and realized you weren’t thick as two short planks, after all. You’d have sussed it out, eventually. After some exhausting bloody play-acting on my part. I’d rather not bother.”

“I won’t tell the council.”

“Figured you wouldn’t. You’re half-way decent, and besides,” he tilted his head and gave her a saucy wink, “I’m irresistible.” He hopped off the tombstone and tossed his cigarette. “Well, come on, no sense me ‘keeping you occupied’ any longer. Let’s get back to slayer central and tell the kiddies to stop the charade.”

Lydia set a hand on his arm. “Let’s not tell them I know, just yet.”

Spike smiled. “Are you thinking of pulling one over on them?”

“I’m thinking that after years working to prove myself while simultaneously worrying if unbuttoning more than one blouse button will be seen as tarty, I’ve finally got a chance to do some good in the world. And yes, I think those children need a lesson or two.”

Spike swept her a sketch of a gallant bow and held out his hand to help her off the tombstone. “Lydia, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

As she accepted his hand, he leaned down and added, “And unbutton all the buttons you want.”

“In your dreams,” she said, but she felt proud of his playful leer.

She imagined within a year she’d have a monograph to publish on William the Bloody and amoral morality.

Beautiful, indeed.

THE END


	2. The Watcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for rebcake who asked for some Spike/Faith and suggested this scenario:
> 
> Post-The Gift, Faith is busted out of (or released from, whatever) jail to take over the Slayer's duties. (Remember that cool one you wrote where Lydia Chalmers takes over for Giles after Buffy dies? I do. I wonder how Lydia would deal with Faith and vice versa?)
> 
> You don't have to read that to 'get' this one, but this will take over shortly after that story left off, with Lydia as watcher in charge of the rag-tag post-Gift slayage team.

When Faith was told that her cousin was there to see her, she assumed it would be Buffy. When she saw a woman she didn’t recognize in a tweed suit and bun, she stopped dead in her tracks and the prison guard had to push her forward.

The woman had a nervous smile and a briefcase on her lap. Faith sprawled sloppily in the hard plastic chair on her side of the bullet-proof glass. “Thanks,” she said, “But I’m watched enough right now.”

“Faith, I’m your cousin, Lydia. I know we haven’t met before now, but…”

“Cut the song and dance. I’m not interested.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “I think you will be interested in getting out of jail.”

“Didn’t you hear? I put myself here. It’s supposed to reform me. So far it’s just teaching me to tune out bible-thumpers, but I’m hopeful the coming here was a good reform step.”

The watcher scooted close to the glass and lowered her voice. “Buffy is dead. Do you understand? We need you out of there.”

Faith’s next words died in her throat.

“So, next Thursday you have a parole hearing. You will identify me as your cousin Lydia. We aren’t close but you feel safe living with me and consider me an excellent role model.”

“No,” Faith said. “Buff? No way. She’d survive anything. I’m the one who’s going to die first. It’s practically written on my face.”

Lydia’s features softened. “Here, I’ve written everything down. Just… read this by Thursday.” She slipped some papers into the little drawer that let people pass things to inmates. “Our lawyer’s name is Stilton. He’ll be calling you later today or tomorrow.”

The rest of Lydia’s words just flowed over Faith, unheard. She was in a daze until she was somehow back in her cell, on her bed, holding a packet of papers. Being Destiny Girl was supposed to be irrevocably in her past.

She didn’t want it, which was, she supposed, why she had to accept.

***

“No. No bloody way.” Spike stomped across the crypt.

Lydia sat primly on the edge of a sarcophagus. She uncrossed and re-crossed her ankles. “We need a slayer.”

“The bot –“

“Is a stop-gap measure, and I know, trust me, what the council will do when they find out. They’ll fire me, send an assassin to kill Faith, and find a new slayer to train up in their own way.”

He finally stopped pacing. “You think they’d do her in? Really?”

“The council doesn’t have resources designed for rehabilitating rogue slayers. The only reason they’ve let her fall off their radar is her unique situation as a ‘spare’.”

Spike shook his head. He picked up an empty bottle sitting on the opposite sarcophagus, not for the first time, and set it down again. “Doesn’t matter. Can’t replace her, you know that.”

“No one is talking about replacing anyone.”

The door swung open. “No? I’d replace all of you.” Faith strode in and dropped a duffle bag on the floor.

Lydia dropped off the sarcophagus and hurried in short high-heeled steps to get between the slayer and the vampire. “Faith! You weren’t supposed to arrive until tonight.”

“Hitched a ride with a trucker. Way faster than the bus.” Faith gave Spike a long up-down. “I was wondering why Willow sent me into the cemetery to find you. Something I should know?”

Lydia touched her reddening cheek. “No. Well, yes, actually. It’s… have you met Spike?”

Faith took a step closer to Spike, arms crossed. “I’m a little out of the loop. Aren’t you a bad guy?”

“Oh, I’m bad,” Spike said, voice dropping into a purr.

“Stop that,” Lydia said, smacking his arm. He gave her a hurt look. “You aren’t here to seduce any more slayers.”

“More?” Faith’s eyes popped wide. 

Spike coughed. “Technically…”

“Spike has been assisting us with slaying duties in Buffy’s absence. I believe he can continue to be a strong ally.”

Faith leaned back. “Let’s talk more about this seduction thing. Was B a bad girl?”

Spike tightened his fists and advanced on Faith. Fortunately, Lydia was right there and able to put a hand on his chest. “Could we please discuss matters like rational adults?”

Spike scowled and stalked off, resuming his earlier pacing, while Faith just shrugged and said, “I’d rather be childish and petty, but whatever.”

Lydia sighed and rubbed her forehead. “There was… an unfortunate situation with a robot designed to mimic Buffy.”

“Oi! She doesn’t need to know that.”

Lydia held a hand up toward Spike. “She’ll meet the bot soon enough, do you really think her programming has gotten any more subtle?”

Spike wrapped his arms around himself and muttered. 

Faith grinned. “I have got to learn more about this.”

“Yes, well, suffice it to say, everything will go more smoothly if you can avoid flirting with each other. Spike, Faith is our new slayer, there is no argument on this matter. Once she is settled and comfortable, she will be calling the shots around here, and I expect you to respect her authority.”

“I like this new watcher more and more,” Faith said. “What do you say, Spikey? Going to snap to attention when I say go?”

Spike raised two fingers in response and once again picked up his empty bottle to confirm its empty state.

Lydia smoothed her jacket. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted, then.” She paused just before the door and pointed at Faith. “No staking.”

Faith put a hand on her heart and raised the other.

Lydia pointed at Spike. “No… being yourself.”

Spike tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

Lydia sighed. “I’ll see you both at HQ at sunset? Yes? Good.” She gave them one more reluctant look over and slipped out the door.

Faith laughed and clapped her hand. “The teacher’s away.” She sauntered up to Spike. “The bad kids play.”

He pushed her, and then grabbed his head. Wincing and blinking, he said, “No one replaces Buffy. Bugger off.”

Faith hopped onto the sarcophagus where Lydia had been sitting so recently. “Easy, champ. I remember your little ‘chip’ problem. It’s kinda hot in a bondage way. Then again, I’ve been confined to the company of other women for over a year so I’m feeling really easy.”

“Not interested,” Spike said. He picked up his bottle again. This time he threw it against the wall where it shattered and rained down on top of the remnants of its predecessors. “Christ would the sun go down!” Spike gestured at the high, barred window of the crypt.

Faith looked around the room. “This really isn’t how I pictured my first time alone with a guy after getting released.”

Spike grabbed her arm and pulled her off the sarcophagus. 

“Hey!”

“Get out. Didn’t invite you in and don’t want you here.”

Faith smacked his hand off her arm and picked up her duffle. “Fine. See you at HQ, jerk.”

She turned around just after stepping through the door. “Hey, you don’t happen to know where that is?”

Spike threw the crypt door shut in her face.

Faith rolled her eyes. “Strong ally. Check.”

***

HQ turned out to be the local magic shop. Spike sulked and stalked around the farthest corner of the room from Faith while everyone else put up an effort to be welcoming. Xander even smiled and shook her hand before loudly and repeatedly mentioning that he had a girlfriend, Anya. Anya echoed this sentiment while hugging Xander tight.

“All the guys here taken or dead?” Faith glanced at Spike, who scowled and looked away.

“I’m Buffy,” the Buffybot declared, holding out a hand. “You’re Faith. You’re just like me, but a little bit dirty.”

People winced and looked away, but Faith cracked a smile and shook the robot’s lifelike hand. “That about sums me up. Ready to stake some vampires?”

The bot’s smile got, impossibly, even wider. “Yes! Slaying vampires is what I do.”

“Good, get it out of here,” Spike muttered.

The bot looked forlornly at him. “Spike doesn’t like me anymore,” she said.

“Dick,” Faith said, and gave the bot a shoulder hug. “Boys suck.”

“Oh! Spike is very good at—“

“Oi! Get it out of here!”

Faith led the bot toward the door. “All right. We’ll get some girl talk on our outing together.”

Faith laughed to herself as she glanced back and saw Spike’s horrified expression. Yeah, she was getting an idea what Lydia had been hinting at with the seduction talk. Lydia was beat red, herself. “And hey, Spike – didn’t you say you DIDN’T want a replacement?”

Two fingers and a scowl. She was getting that a lot from him.

***

Faith finished her rounds of the cemeteries, having staked three vampires, and went to check how the bot was doing in the back-allies of Sunnydale’s industrial district. She found the bot wandering aimlessly, bumping into things. A gash on its forehead sparked with exposed wires.

Faith had to half-herd it back to Revello Drive. It kept going off in random directions and it wasn’t listening to verbal commands, so after a frustrating three blocks, Faith just picked it up and carried it overhead to the door. She burst into the living room to find Spike and Dawn playing cards. They both jumped up.

“What’s that thing doing here?” Spike demanded.

“Oh no! Bot!” Dawn said, and ran forward to help Faith set her down. “I’ll call Willow.”

“Spike!” The bot lurched toward him. “I feel strange.”

“Turn it off.” Spike pushed it back toward Faith.

“You could at least pretend to be kind to its pretend feelings,” Faith said.

“No, I can’t. Anyway, why are we keeping the bloody thing? Thought that was what you were for.”

Dawn ran back into the room. “Willow’s not answering. Neither’s Tara. They must be still at that meeting they were talking about. I called Lydia. She’s on her way over.”

Faith frowned. “Wait – they had a meeting without Lydia?”

“Yeah. She sounded surprised about it, too. Maybe they’re planning a surprise party?”

Faith pushed the damaged bot into Spike’s unwelcoming arms. “Take care of this. I’ll go find Willow.”

“Hold me until I sleep,” Buffybot said, dropping her still-sparking head against Spike’s shoulder. 

“HEY!” Spike tried to hold her at arm’s length.

Faith ran out the door.

Secret meetings without the slayer or the watcher in residence? Yeah, she figured they had to be plotting to send her back to prison for the crime of daring to try to replace Buffy. 

Like she didn’t have any feelings about Buff, herself. 

The Magic Box was dark and empty. She swung by the high school, the only other place she knew of Buffy’s friends hanging out, but on her way she saw a light in Shady Oaks Cemetery. She ran toward it and found it was way off on the edge of the property, where the proverbial oaks grew thickest. Good place for a sneaky rendezvous.

Willow, Xander and Tara were grouped conspiratorially around a grave. Faith ran up to them and stopped when she saw the grave marker. It was Buffy. “Hey guys,” she said, flatly, “What’s up?”

They turned quickly to face her, Willow hiding something behind her back. Xander was the first to recover enough to speak. “Faith. Fancy finding you here. Weren’t you patrolling?”

“Yes. In Cemeteries. Like this one. What’s behind your back, Willow?”

The three conspirators exchanged glances. Faith put her hands on her hips. “If you think you’re getting rid of me, think again. I know I’m not Buffy. I’m not trying to replace her. Damn it, she was like the sister I never had. You get that?” Faith’s voice cracked a little. She pushed the heel of her hand against her cheek to get rid of a tear she was angry to have shed. The gravestone… it just made it all more real.

Willow took a step forward, but Faith shook over her attempt to touch her arm.

Tara said, “W-we’re sorry. We should have included you in on everything.”

“We’re not trying to get rid of you,” Willow said. “We’re trying to bring back Buffy.”

In reaching for her, Willow had brought the item out from behind her back. It was a rough pottery vase. 

Willow looked pleadingly at her. “Don’t tell Lydia? She really really wouldn’t approve.”

“Wait… you guys are talking… magic?”

“She wasn’t meant to die that way,” Xander said.

“She could be in a h-hell dimension,” Tara added, openly afraid. 

“She died diving into an open portal to who knows where.” Willow stepped close, holding her vase. “It’s not a natural death. We don’t have to just take it. She went wherever Glory was from, I’m sure of it.”

Faith took a step back, holding her hands up. “Hey hey okay… I’m not the one you have to convince. When is this going down?”

More exchanged looks. Xander cleared his throat. “No offense, but the fewer people who know, the better.”

“Does Dawn know?” Faith could see the answer was no. They didn’t tell the damned next-of-kin? She shook her head. “You ever think maybe there’s a reason you’re so reluctant to let anyone in on this?”

“Yes,” Willow said. “Because we want to be sure this goes off without a hitch. We only get one shot at this.” She pinned Faith with a glare. “If you could bring back the man you killed, wouldn’t you?”

Faith felt a wave of weakness at the idea. “You can’t… you can’t just undo the things you shouldn’t have done. Doesn’t work like that.”

“But this is something the universe shouldn’t have done,” Xander said. He took the vase from Willow and held it up. “And I’m saying we have a right to hit the undo button.”

“Are you with us?” Willow asked. 

Faith bit her lip, and then forced an easy smile. “Hell, breaking the rules? You know that’s my M.O.”

She noticed that Tara and Xander followed her back to Revello, though, and hung around, asking Lydia questions and acting interested in the minutiae of slayer lore until the Watcher retired for the night.

Faith could tell when she was being shadowed.

Spike came down the stairs. “Bit’s in bed, all tucked in. Lock the doors after me, you reckless children.”

“Goodnight, Spike,” Xander said, with a fond tone that implied this was their usual evening farewell.

“I’ll walk Spike back to the crypt,” Faith said. Incredulous stares, the biggest from Spike himself. She shrugged. “He’s still vulnerable to humans. Excuse me for keeping a look out.”

“Don’t need to hide under your skirts,” Spike said.

“Too bad. I’m the slayer and my say goes.” Faith followed him out.

Xander ran after. “I’ll keep you company. On the way back.”

Faith kept her smile on. “Sure. Thanks.”

Spike stalked at unfair speed ahead of them. Faith almost screamed with frustration. If the idiot knew! She jogged up to him and put her hand on his ass.

Spike jumped in the air like he’d been scalded. Faith grabbed his arm. “Kiss me,” she said.

“Been spending too much time with the b-“

“Before Xander catches up. NOW.”

He started to struggle out of her grasp, so she decided she had to take the initiative herself. She jumped up, wrapping her legs around his slim hips and planted a hard kiss right on him. It was too hard, hurting her lips and no doubt his, but she held on to the back of his head and kept it up. She felt him flail at her, and, slowly, give in, his hands moving from pushing her away to just resting on her. There was something a little sad and helpless in it – he wasn’t kissing back.

She risked a glance through her hanging hair and sure enough, Xander was backing away from them, an appalled look on his face. Faith licked and nibbled up the side of Spike’s face to his ear. “They’re plotting a resurrection spell. Don’t know when. Xan’s in on it.”

She felt Spike straighten, his hands supporting her more firmly now. He brushed the hair back from her ear. “Buffy?” He barely breathed the name. 

Faith nodded.

“When?”

“Don’t know. Soon. They were at her grave.”

“Woah. Time out!” Xander called. “You have to breathe, right? What… what IS it with slayers and vampires?”

Faith turned toward him, simultaneously tightening her grip on Spike. “Go on home, Xan. I got this.”

Christ, the contact felt great. It had been a long time.

Spike kissed her cheek. “Love, I think we’re scandalizing the boy. Head on home, I’ll catch you later.”

Faith tried to read his eyes, but his earnestness, that glitter of moisture, could be a hope of resurrection as much as gratitude that she’d revealed the plot.

He squeezed her. “I’ve got this,” he said.

Slowly, she let herself drop to the ground. “Okay,” she said. “But you’re not completely off the hook, buddy.”

She tugged Xander’s sleeve as she passed him. “Come on. Who knew vampires were so damn shy, right?”

It took half a block for Xander to ask, “Uh… you didn’t really want to just, um, ‘walk’ with him, huh?”

“Ding. Give that boy a silver dollar. Thanks for the cock block.”

Xander shook his head. “But you just GOT here.”

“Don’t think about it too hard, Xan. God, I’m horny.” She wasn’t lying. That one kiss… the press of denim against denim… 

She hoped Spike was feeling suitably grateful when she next saw him.

***

The rest of the night was chaotic. She got back to Revello drive, where they were putting her up in Buffy’s old room – creepy much? She’d only just laid her head down when the roar of motorcycles outside heralded the front door banging open and Spike shouting, “Niblet! Get down here.”

They’d brought a new slayer not a day too soon. The demon population had just gotten wind of Buffybot’s less-than-Buffy-ness.

Slayage happened. Demon bikers, mostly. There was property damage, but they turned tail when they realized a real live slayer was there to kick their asses. Also, on the bonus side, Faith managed to steal one of their bikes. 

Still, it was near dawn when they returned ‘home’, exhausted.

Spike pulled Faith into the bathroom. He looked grave.

“Hey, man, about earlier… I know you’re not really into me,” she said.

“Sh,” he said. He took her hand and drew it under the faucet. Her knuckles were bleeding from thrashing some demon biker with a metal stud fetish. Spike washed and bound her wounds.

Faith felt uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to being cared for. “Thanks,” she said. “I get it, you know. You’re in mourning. Everyone here is in mourning. I am, too. Maybe the others, they don’t get you, they don’t think your heartbreak is as real as theirs, but I see it. I know it.”

Spike’s eyes were wide as he looked up from taping down the bandage. He looked at her like he’d never seen anyone like her before. Faith looked away. “Don’t get all sappy on me,” she said.

His fingertips were gentle on her cheek, and her chin, turning her back toward him. “You’re not a replacement,” he said. “And you don’t have to be.” His lips ghosted gently over her bandaged knuckles.

Downstairs, the door opened and shut. Spike sighed and stepped back. “That’ll be the bit finally back. I could kill her. Just a sec.”

Faith held her hand to herself, and felt, well, a little jealous of Buffy.

Downstairs she heard Spike say, “Thank god. You scared me half to death – or more to death. You – I could kill you.”

“Spike.”

“I mean it. I could rip your head off one-handed and drink from your brainstem.”

Faith smiled quietly to herself and checked her face in the mirror. Downstairs, it got very quiet. She went down to see what was up, feeling like her baptism of fire was over and now, at last, she belonged here.

END


End file.
